The laughter continued to swell. Soon she was laughing too, so crippled with mirth she thought her sides would split.
Ten minutes later she was sitting on a bench in the corner of the square eating an ice cream. The crowd had now dispersed, most with smiles on their faces. Martin Phillips and Brian Harper, Paul’s so-called friends, were riding their bicycles round the Norman cross. She wondered whether they had been responsible for the incident.
‘Hello.’
A boy stood beside her. The one who had drawn her picture. Ronald something.
He sat down on the bench. ‘Do have a seat,’ she said sarcastically.
‘Are you pleased?’
‘About what?’
‘You were there. I saw you from the window.’
‘What window?’
‘The one in the library.’
She bit into her ice cream. Martin, riding his bicyle with no hands, swerved to avoid a dog and promptly fell off. Brian cheered. She was about to do the same when she realized what Ronald had said.
‘You did it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because of the way he treated you.’
‘Who told you about that?’
‘Alice Wetherby.’
‘You’re friends with her but doing favours for me?’ A snort. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘She isn’t my friend. We just live in the same street.’
‘You live in The Avenue?’
‘Yes.’
‘So your mother’s the new Mrs Pembroke.’
He nodded.
‘And how does she feel about you throwing turds at VIPs?’
‘Very proud. What mother wouldn’t be?’
Unexpectedly she found herself laughing. He was watching her, his blond hair framing a handsome face and clever eyes. His clothes hung neatly upon him. He looked like a male version of Alice.
Her defences rose like a drawbridge. She knew what he was after. What all boys were after. And she knew how to make him sorry.
‘There are easier ways to impress me. All you have to do is say the magic words.’
‘What are they?’
‘That I look like Elizabeth Taylor.’
‘You look like who you are.’
‘And who is that?’
‘Someone special.’
‘That’s right. I am special. The only girl in town who’ll do it with anyone. Just pay me a compliment and I’ll spread my legs. That’s what you think, isn’t it?’
‘How do you know what I think?’
‘Because I can see through you like an X-ray. You believe gossip because it’s easier than trying to find out the truth. Unless, of course that gossip is about your mother.’
He frowned. ‘What about my mother?’
‘Haven’t you heard? I’m surprised. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘About what?’
‘About how she’s a hard-faced gold-digger who’d have happily married a leper provided his bank account was big enough.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘She married your stepfather for his looks, did she?’
‘You don’t know anything about her.’
‘Don’t I? If you’re going to believe gossip about me then why shouldn’t I believe it about her? It’s a free country, after all, even for tarts and gold-diggers.’
He rose to his feet, looking so angry she thought he might hit her. But when he spoke his voice was calm.
‘Maybe you’re right. If wanting to have money and a nice home is being a gold-digger then that’s what she is. But before condemning her you should know that when she was only thirteen she lost her entire family in an air raid. Her mother, father and brother all killed in an instant. She was only just seventeen when she had me. My father was dead, she had no money and was living with relatives who didn’t want her and did everything they could to make her give me up. But she wouldn’t, and all my life she’s tried to give me the things she never had. That’s why she came to work here and that’s why she married my stepfather, and if that makes her a bad person in your eyes then so be it. But she’d never judge someone without knowing the facts, and if you do then perhaps you really are the stupid tart the gossips say.’
He turned and walked away. She told herself she didn’t care. Tried to focus on her anger but found it eclipsed by another emotion she hadn’t anticipated. Shame.
‘Ronald, wait.’
He stopped, staring down at his feet.
‘Come back.’
He did. They sat in silence, side by side in the afternoon sun, while women with shopping baskets passed by them, complaining about the price of groceries.
‘Sorry,’ she said eventually.
He didn’t answer. She prodded him in the ribs, looking for a reaction. Her ice cream was melting so she dabbed some on his nose. ‘Sulky,’ she told him.
Still no answer. Again she prodded him. ‘Come on, Ronald. Try smiling.’
‘It’s Ronnie. No one calls me Ronald.’
‘I’m not surprised. It’s a horrible name.’
‘Blame Ronald Colman. Mum named me after him.’
‘Why? Was he her idol?’
‘No. She just couldn’t spell Humphrey Bogart.’
Again she found herself laughing. At last his smile came. Warm and genuine. Perhaps he didn’t look so like Alice after all.
‘I’m sorry for what I said about your mother. I don’t think she’s a gold-digger.’
‘Do others?’
She thought of her stepfather. ‘Some. But they’re just fools.’
‘Sorry I got angry.’
‘I’d get angry too if someone said things about my mother.’
‘You think I’d be used to it by now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
Her ice cream was liquid. She put it in the bin. ‘That’s sixpence down the drain.’
‘I’ll buy you another if you like.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’d have paid ten times that to see the look on Paul’s face.’
‘You still can. I take cheques.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘For you.’
‘But why?’
‘Because I want to know you.’
‘I’m not worth knowing. Ask anyone.’
‘I don’t believe in gossip and I think you are.’
‘So you want to be my knight in shining armour.’ She shook her head. ‘Don’t waste your time, Ronnie. I don’t need anyone to understand me.’
‘I do,’ he said quietly.
‘Are you that complicated?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You certainly like living dangerously. Did anyone see you in the library?’
‘Do I look stupid?’
‘Very.’
His smile returned. As attractive as before. But Paul’s smile had been attractive too and the naive girl of twelve months ago was gone for ever.
She rose to her feet. ‘Find someone else to understand you. It shouldn’t be difficult with your looks. Girls will be queuing up. Just don’t pick Alice. Beneath the sugary exterior lurks a vicious bitch, and that’s not just gossip.’
‘I’ll see you again.’
‘Of course. We live in the same town, don’t we?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘But that’s how it is. Goodbye, Ronnie.’ A pause. ‘And hey …’
‘What?’
‘Good shot.’
Then it was her turn to walk away.
Monday morning. She sat at the breakfast table listening to Uncle Andrew rant about the wildness of modern youth. The previous day’s paper lay on the table. ‘Prize Ceremony Disrupted by Prank,’ read the headline. She had hoped for a more descriptive one but the accompanying photograph of a soiled Paul more than made up for that.
‘Are you sure it was a young person?’ asked Susan’s mother. ‘The paper said they didn’t know who the culprit was.�
��
Uncle Andrew gave her a withering look. ‘So what’s your theory, then? Pensioners protesting at increased library fines? It’ll be one of those hooligans from Holt Street.’ He spread marmalade on to his toast. ‘I blame television. It gives them all sorts of ideas.’
‘Then thank goodness we never got one.’
‘Though that didn’t stop a certain person getting herself suspended, did it?’ He jabbed his finger at Susan. ‘You’d better behave yourself from now on.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ said her mother.
‘Let’s hope so. It would be nice if she could finish her last term at Heathcote without being expelled.’
Susan reached for a piece of toast, wearing an expression of glum resignation. They had told her about her move to boarding school the previous Monday, just after she had told them about her suspension. ‘We’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this,’ Uncle Andrew had said, ‘but after this incident there’s really no choice.’ His tone had been one of regret, masking his certain delight at how perfectly she had played into his hands.
She hadn’t just accepted it, of course. An actress had to give the performance her audience expected. There had been protestations. Tears even. A perfectly executed display of distress that had eventually collapsed into sullen acceptance. Uncle Andrew was not the only one who could dissemble. She had years of hard-won experience under her belt.
And she was better at it than he was.
He continued his rant, blaming her peer group for all the evils of the world. She sat in silence, keeping her mask in place.
Half an hour later she made her way towards school.
She walked quickly, ignoring the whispers and stares. Acting as if she didn’t mind, just as she had done every day for the past year. Only this time it was no act. The girl who cared about the opinions of others had vanished in front of her bedroom mirror a week ago, replaced by one who found it hard to believe that anything so trivial could ever have mattered to her.
The usual crowd were gathered around the gates. Alice was prattling away to Ronnie like a wind-up doll while looking daggers at Kate who kept trying to join in the conversation. Not that it was a real conversation. Ronnie just nodded, a faint but unmistakable look of boredom on his face. Perhaps Alice really was nothing more to him than a neighbour.
But it wasn’t important.
Kate continued to interrupt, prompting further glares from Alice. Others were glaring too. Boys with whom Alice had once flirted now cast menacing looks at Ronnie. Briefly she felt concern for him. Hoped he wouldn’t suffer for having stolen Alice’s attention.
But it wasn’t her problem.
Ronnie’s eyes locked with hers. His expression was questioning. Having no answers for him she shrugged and looked away.
*
The following Sunday she took Jennifer to the local playground.
Hand in hand they walked across Queen Anne Square. It had rained solidly for the previous two days and Susan had feared the summer was over, but that morning the sky had been clear and the sun bright, so perhaps it hadn’t ended yet.
As they approached the road that led to Market Court she saw Ronnie.
He was standing on the corner, hands in pockets, staring fixedly at her.
‘What do you want?’ she called out.
‘To see you.’
‘Well, I’m busy.’ She carried on walking.
Jennifer tugged at her hand. ‘Who’s that?’
‘Just some stupid boy. What shall we do first? Swings or slide?’
‘Swings!’
‘I’m going to swing higher than you.’
‘No you’re not. I’m going to swing as high as the sky!’
They crossed Market Court, exchanging polite greetings with people they knew. Jennifer kept looking over her shoulder. ‘What is it, Jenjen?’
‘That boy’s following us.’
‘Well, that proves how stupid he is. Let’s sing him our song.’
So they did. A rhyme she had made up as a joke.
‘Boys are stupid. Boys are sad.
And girls who like boys are raving mad!’
They left the Court and entered the side street that led to the playground.
‘He’s still following,’ said Jennifer.
She nodded, trying to feel annoyed while realizing she was pleased.
The playground was situated close to her old house and had swings, a slide and a battered old roundabout decorated with pictures of horses. It was rarely used now, eclipsed by a bigger one that had opened the previous year. But Susan still brought Jennifer, just as her father had once brought her.
She led Jennifer towards the swings. Ronnie sat on a bench by the entrance. After making a face at him she gripped the ropes and launched herself forward, propelling herself higher and higher. As the air rushed past her face she shut her eyes and pretended she was flying. Feeling for a brief but glorious moment like the child she had once been whose life had been an adventure unclouded by worry or fear.
Beside her, Jennifer was squealing with excitement. ‘I can swing higher than you, Susie. Look!’ Instantly the adult side of her nature reasserted itself. She slowed herself down, opening her eyes to check that Jennifer did not go higher than was safe and realizing that there were now others in the park.
Martin Phillips and Brian Harper were perched on the roundabout, smoking cigarettes and staring at her just like Ronnie. Their bicycles lay on the ground near by. Martin whispered something to Brian, who began to snigger. She told herself to ignore them. What did a bit of name-calling matter? Sticks and stones could break her bones but words could never hurt her.
But they might hurt Jenjen.
Brian continued to snigger. Jennifer had stopped swinging and was watching him warily. ‘I don’t like those boys, Susie.’
‘Don’t worry about them, darling. They’ll go away soon.’
‘That’s not very friendly,’ Martin told her. His speech was slurred. Susan knew he often stole alcohol from his father’s drinks cabinet and began to feel anxious.
She gave Jennifer a reassuring smile. ‘Let’s go on the slide.’
‘I’ve got something you can slide on,’ Brian told her.
‘Me too,’ added Martin, his cigarette clenched between his thumb and first finger in the studied pose of a street tough. He took a long drag and promptly suffered a coughing fit. Though she knew it was dangerous, she burst out laughing.
He swallowed, his eyes watering. ‘What’s so funny?’
Contempt overcame wariness. ‘The sight of a sad little boy trying to act like a man and failing miserably.’
‘Better that than a stupid tart trying to act like a lady.’
She didn’t want Jennifer to hear this. ‘Come on, Jenjen. Let’s go home.’
‘Yes, piss off, tart,’ sneered Martin. Once again Brian sniggered.
And then Ronnie said, ‘Don’t call her that again.’
‘What’s it got to do with you, new boy?’ demanded Brian.
Ronnie walked over to the roundabout. ‘She’s not a tart,’ he told Martin calmly. ‘So please don’t call her that again.’
Martin’s face darkened. Susan’s alarm increased. ‘Leave it, Ronnie.’
‘Yes, leave it, Ronnie,’ echoed Brian. ‘It’s not going to get you anywhere with her. You need money for that.’
Ronnie punched him in the face.
The blow was poorly struck, glancing off Brian’s jaw. But it was enough to make him roar. Both he and Martin jumped to their feet, Martin grabbing Ronnie round the neck while Brian punched him back. Both were older and stronger and in their drunken state looked set to hurt him badly like the bullies they were.
And she wasn’t having that.
She positioned herself between Ronnie and Brian before another blow could be struck. ‘Please don’t,’ she begged Brian. ‘He barely touched you.’
‘Get out of the way.’
‘You can hardly have felt it.’ She held up her hands in suppli
cation. ‘Please.’
He hesitated. Seizing her moment, she grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed her head into his face.
‘Now that, on the other hand, has got to hurt!’
He screamed, covering his nose with his hands. She rammed her knee into his balls then turned to face Martin, blood pounding in her temples like a drum. ‘You’re next,’ she told him. He released Ronnie, looking genuinely frightened. She raised her fists in a fighter’s stance. ‘What are you scared of? I’m just a stupid tart. What can I do to you?’
Brian began to rise. She kicked him in the backside, sending him down again. Martin moved away. ‘Bloody psycho!’
‘That’s right. It runs in my family, didn’t you know?’
Again Brian tried to rise. Again she kicked him. Martin grabbed his bicycle. She taunted him with clucking sounds, flapping her arms like a chicken.
For the third time Brian tried to rise. This time she let him. He hobbled towards his bicycle, rubbing his bruised testicles, clearly eager to follow Martin’s lead and flee. She watched them go, the blood still racing inside her. When they reached the entrance Martin turned back. ‘You should be locked up!’
‘It’ll take more of a man than you to do it.’ Laughing, she made more clucking sounds.
And heard Jennifer sob.
She was cowering by the swings, her shoulders shaking and a terrified expression on her face. Susan’s exhilaration vanished, replaced by shame. ‘Oh, darling, come here.’
‘I thought they’d hurt you. I thought …’
She wiped Jennifer’s eyes, making soothing noises. ‘How could they hurt me? They’re just boys, and we know what we think of boys, don’t we?’ She began to hum their rhyme, making silly faces, trying to make Jennifer smile and eventually succeeding. ‘That’s better. You’re a brave girl. The bravest girl in the world.’
Ronnie stood watching them. His lip was bleeding. She felt pleased. This was all his fault. He wiped the blood with his hand. ‘Use a handkerchief,’ she told him.
‘I don’t have one.’
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